Half Remembered Dreams
by Ms. Unusual-in-Groovy-Ways
Summary: It had been a year since they last saw each other, since they last kissed, and since they last remembered. *Sequel to "Bring Havok On a Screeching Mutant". Two-shot. Havok/Banshee past slash*
1. Why a Banshee Howls

**DISCLAIMER: This is **_**fan**_**fiction. If I really owned the characters of X-Men, I'd be ruining the comics. (Seriously, I'd ruin it with M-preg, a lot of gay, and more Banshee. :P)**

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><p>O.K., this is a sequel to the story <em>Bring Havok on a Screeching Mutant<em>, by **And then theres yaoi**. Now, if you are going to read this story, I recommend reading the original first in order to comprehend what's going on here. Plus, it's a really great fanfic to read. After you've read that, please come back and examine this, O.K.?

So this story takes place a year after the first story. It revolves around how Sean's and Alex's lives have changed since their last meeting. This first chapter is told in Sean's **p**oint **o**f **v**iew, while the second is told in Alex's.

Please read and review because I need to what wrong with this so that I may perfect it. :D

Forever mutant and always proud,

~Ms. Unusual-in-Groovy-Ways

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><p><em><strong>Half-Remembered Dreams Pt. I: Why a Banshee Howls<strong>_

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><p>The old floorboards of the quaint, little cottage we lived in creaked loudly as my parents attempted to tip-toe through my room. I prepared for my morning push to wake me up, but it never came. Instead, minutes passed painfully by as I waited for parents' routine yelling. After what seemed like ten minutes, I was going to wake up myself (a first) but was greeted by a thunderous "SURPRISE!"<p>

I screeched my signature scream as I jumped up for my original position on the bed and onto the hard floor. My mom gasped but quickly came to the rescue for her only baby boy. Although I did not need her to help me up, I let her, knowing that it would make her happy to do so. As soon as I was sitting on my bed, I asked my mom and dad why they yelled "SURPRISE!" at me earlier.

"You don't remember?" my mom, Quinn, asked me in an almost shocked voice. "It's a very important day. You can't forget it."

"Is it my nineteenth birthday?" I asked confusedly.

"No. Guess again."

"You won the lottery?"

"Nuh-huh. Keep guessing."

"You're pregnant?"

"No, sweetie. I'm not."

"Dad's pregnant?"

"Tom, please tell him," my mother said to my dad. "He's never going to get it."

"Sean, it's the one year anniversary of us moving to Ireland," he said in a happy tone of voice, but it was, by far, less cheerful than my mom's way of talking.

"So?" I said with a lot of attitude. I hated Ireland. Not because it was a bad place with bad people, but because it was not my home. I missed New York with a yearning sadness and rejoicing our departure from that great place made me mad.

"'So?'" Quinn repeated. She looked like a told her that her face looked like trout. "Darling, it's been one year! We've been here a year and we've loved it here for a year. I thought we wouldn't last two weeks because of our attachment to New York, but we made it! You should be happy."

"Hey, ma, but I'm not," I replied as I stood up. "I'm sorry, but I don't feel like celebrating. Can I change and meet you guys downstairs?"

They soon nodded and left my room.

After the closed my bedroom door, I fell limply onto my bed. I laid there, eagle spread, completely hopeless. I wanted to go back to sleep, to go back to a happier place, but I couldn't. I was up and fully awake. No matter how much I wanted to pass out, I just could not.

The reason why I sought to back to bed was because it reminded of a happier time. It made me think of a time of love, peace, optimism, brotherhood, friendship – everything that I didn't have here. But the funny thing was that it wasn't memories, per say, in my dreams; it was just something familiar – like a feeling – in my dreams that made me desire to go back.

The dreams were never elaborate or adventurous or mind-boggling. There was just something homey about it that made it feel like I was reliving an event or fulfilling a past duty. The dreams consisted of pictures, cut out images, of the most random things. There were even sounds and smells in there. Sometimes, instead of a random sweet smell or a crash of glass (I heard a lot of things falling, like, in a lab or something because it sounded like a klutz knocking down beakers), I would smell, like, the ocean and listen to a girl's laugh.

My favorite dream was when I heard someone's voice say my name. Nothing was in the dream. Just a sound. It was definitely a dude's voice, though. But it was a nice tone. It wasn't mean or taunting, like the guys at my new school. It was kind, steady, strong, caring. It had to belong to a boy who was like brother to someone or someone who'd take a bullet for his best mate.

Another dream I liked was the one where the word "Havok," in messy, black lettering, showed up in my head. I really had no idea what it meant (it was misspelled) or who's handwriting it was. But it stayed with me, you know? One day at school, my math teacher caught me doodling "Havok + Banshee = 4ever" in my notebook. I told her that I didn't mean to do it, that I just drew it unconsciously, but she did not believe me. When she called my parents in later that day, they asked me what meaning the doodle had, but I couldn't answer because I didn't know. I still don't know.

Although its meaning remained a mystery, I wrote on my left wrist, nice and big. Because I wrote it with a Sharpie, it didn't come out easily. And since I was not big on baths, it never washed off. Occasionally I just stared at it and then, out of nowhere, chance pictures popped up in my head – like a wheelchair, a ship, a funny looking helmet, a chess set, and the color blue with scales and fur. But the weirdest image was one of short, Blonde hair. For some reason, I felt like I knew where that hair belonged but I didn't. I felt like I've touched it before too, but I did not remember from where.

After lying in bed for about fifteen minutes, my mom and dad called me down for chocolate chip pancakes. I get dressed in an old green T-shirt (which I felt strange connection to) and my favorite jeans before running downstairs. When there, I saw Mom cooking up a storm. There was bacon, eggs, sausage, pancakes, waffles, and ham. There was so much food on our breakfast table that I could not see the actual table.

Even if I was cranky that morning, my hormonal teenage boy hunger won me over. I dug in and stuffed my face happily. And even though I felt like utter shit that morning, I made my mom glad by eating every edible thing on that table.

It was 7:46 when I looked wearily that the clock that hung over the stove. Because I had a very important test to fail that day, I kissed my mom and bid my dad good-bye before I ran out of the house like a mad man.

My hatred for Ireland in general could not even compare to my hatred for my school. I loathed that school with such hatred that people could almost smell it on me. My school was filled with a bunch of jerks that did not help the cause. The teachers, too, were the devil's children. And they hated me as much as I hated them. That was why I was guaranteed an _F_ for every test, pop quiz, and anything else that had a grade.

That was why, for the rest of the day, I daydreamed of the day that I would go back to New York figure everything out. Deep down in my heart, I knew it was not dreams that invaded my mind at night, but actual memories. I did not know from where or when, but I knew that they were real. I knew that a genuine guy lived out there – who knows where – who had a voice that belonged to angels and probably had glorious hair. I knew that the wheelchair in my dreams had a reason of being there. I understood that the helmet, the chess set, the sound of crashing science equipment, the color blue, the ocean, and everything else I dreamt of during that first year in Ireland had a cause of coming to me over and over again. I knew that if it was simply a dream and that it was just my imagination, I would have not dreamt of it so much.

That was I knew that that kiss I "dreamed" of in the early hours of the morning meant something special.


	2. Havok Wreaked on an Innocent Heart

**DISCLAIMER: This is _fan_fiction. If I really owned the characters of X-Men, I'd be ruining the comics. (Seriously, I'd ruin it with M-preg, a lot of gay, and more Banshee. :P)**

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><p><strong><em>Half-Remembered Dreams Pt. II: Havok Wreaked on an Innocent Heart<em>**

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><p>Light leaked through the curtains of my room in the wee hours of the morning, shining its brilliant, golden warmth across everything. In an ideal world, a sensible person would have gotten up and greeted the glorious daybreak with a smile and a gracious approach. But it was neither a rational world nor was I a rational person. I merely turned my face away from the accursed light and drifted by into unconsciousness.<p>

But that Bozo I lived had to be a fucking goody two shoes and wake me up for the Professor at fucking dawn.

"Alex, get up!" he grumbled in an almost annoyed voice. "You need your head checked!" Although he could have easily picked me up and carried me to my scheduled appointment, he was hesitant about his powers so he only pushed, hit, smacked me upside the head. After a while (or five minutes), I got tired of Hank's stupid bitch slaps and I just kicked him in the balls. He backed away immediately but quickly got pissed. He growled at me while I cracked my knuckles.

It was one those days.

If you expected us to punch the living shit out each other until we died or not give up until we were bleeding, dying, and/or getting our asses kicked by an angry Moira, you were way wrong.

At first, we just stared at each other as if bright, red lasers were going to come out of our eyes and kill the other. Several minutes had to pass by because, after a while, I felt uncomfortably stiff. I moved my head from side to side, stretching my neck. But I made a weird cracking sound, so Beast thought that just being cocky and simply trying to intimidate him. He then growled, crouching like a jungle cat while doing so. Before I could realize what I was doing, he came at me. In one swift movement, he scooped me up and carried me over his shoulder.

_Great, now he does it_, I thought bitterly.

"C'mon Alex," he said as walked out of my room towards the lab (I looked longingly at my bed while he left farther and farther from my happy place), "you've been attending Charles' brain scans for twelve months now. Why can't you do it without all the fuss?"

"'Cause I'm in no need of a fucking brain scan, bozo!" I spat out angrily. "If I did, you would've known twelve fucking months ago!"

"Alexander, the accident you endured those months ago was of a dangerous kind. The fact that you survived the truck's hitting you is both miraculous and suspicious. Because you left that scene with a minor concussion and a few cuts and bruises, we need to make sure that you _did_ leave with _just_ that. Sometimes, after a traumatic crash like yours, symptoms can appear later on. It is no more than precautionary for me and the Professor to check your vital signs."

"But it's been a mother fucking year! My head isn't gonna fall off anytime soon, _Henry_!"

Hank rolled his eyes and sighed at my childish remarks. "For a guy who woke up just now, you have insulted me and have said the word 'fucking' more times than you've had in an entire day."

I only scoffed at his statement. I hung off his large, blue, furry shoulder with a scowl on my face. I knew I didn't need a good-for-nothing, bloody scan of my head. I was fine. Well, I was fine…except for the fact that I couldn't remember probably the most important person in my life.

You see, exactly one year ago that day, I was extremely depressed over something. Charles said that he tried to talk me out of leaving the mansion but that I was too upset to listen to him. All I remembered was taking one of Charles' old motorcycles and driving it as far away as I could from that place - the place that once made me feel great. I also remembered that I distraught and I went as fast that damn machine could go. I remembered the wind blowing in my face, roughly wiping away the tears that were pouring down my face; the roar of the engine as I increased its speed; the sound of a truck blowing its loud horn; and the truck's headlights shining a white ray before it all went black.

I really didn't suffer from anything major; just a concussion that left me comatose for three days. Although it did not affect any of my important bodily functions, it did leave my head a little foggy. For the first couple of days, I didn't know who my friends were, where I was, or even my own name. Professor X, however, was able to bring back my memories in a matter of minutes and he dubbed my condition as O.K. and fixed. But, since then, he has me getting a routine checkup every month.

But I caught on to his game.

During my July checkup, I told Professor Xavier about these weir dreams that I was having. They were all about my accident but with alternate endings. In one of them, I hit so hard that I flung from my bike and the truck driver didn't even notice that he hit me. I just laid there, broken and dying, until a silhouette of a tall, lanky man came my way. He picked me up gently and said, "Every thing's gonna be alright, Havok." in a kind, brotherly voice that was familiar but I couldn't exactly pinpoint it. I tried looking at his face, but it covered by the shadows. All I could of him was his light, ginger mane that he called his hair. He carried all the back to Xavier's place and, when we arrived, was greeted by the others with hugs, pats, and "Way to go, Banshee!"

After I told Charles about that one dream, he erased my memory. He told Hank that my brain just went in a relapse, but, luckily, that bozo of a scientist was too smart to believe him. Charles eventually told Hank about what he did to me, saying that it was "better for him not to remember Banshee". Beast, as soon as he heard this, told me. I tried to ask Hank who "Banshee" was but he said that he didn't know either.

Charles erased both of our memories of this mysterious "Banshee" guy.

After the incredibly painful ride on "Air Hank's Shoulder," he finally made to the X-Men lab (which underneath the actual building). Beast stayed in the doorway, but I reluctantly walked into the completely silver room towards the towards the small, metal table that was in the middle of the machine-filled room space. Sitting in front of it with a beaming smile, was the Professor himself.

Damn bastard.

"Hello, Alex," he greeted super cheerfully. "How are you this fine morning?"

"Fine," I murmured inaudibly under my breath. I then sat on the cold, hard table, like I did every time I went there. I laid down, with my head towards Charles, so he could just get the fucking procedure done with.

"Anything strange happening in your heads? Bad dreams, weird images, funny sounds, perhaps?" While I looked up at his tired face (he was recruiting more mutants at that time so he was barely sleeping), I saw him close his eyes as he spoke and put his fingers to the temples of my head.

"Nope, nothing," I said quickly, but it was a lie. I did experience all three of those things. That same morning when Beast woke me up, I had a dream where I met the Banshee dude. He just introduced himself as "Sean Cassidy" and shook my hand, but pictures of things that looked like they came from another life flooded my head. A kiss we shared between the two of us; us playing video games; us having sex; us at the aquarium; two guys taunting Sean; and there was just one "scene" where I just gave him a peck on the cheek. I didn't want to wake up that morning because I finally remembered him - my boyfriend, my true love, my best friend.

"Well then, let me just take a quick look to check," Charles said before he invaded my mind.

Before he entered my head and saw my memories of Sean and erased them, I mumbled my "I love you" to my Banshee and whispered out loud:

"See you in my dreams, Banshee."


End file.
